THE CAVE ON THE THORWALD
“Safe?” he heard her whisper.
“Yes, for the present.”
“You have what you came for?”
“I think so.”
“And what shall we do now?”
“Sleep. You’re dead beat. Come.”
He rose and helped her to her feet, then after another pause, turned
toward the wall of rocks behind them.
“Do you think you can make it? It’s a difficult climb.”
“Yes. I’ve that much left in me. You lead the way and I’ll follow.” Her
teeth were chattering.
As he touched her sleeve he found it soaked with moisture.
“Poor child. You’re nearly frozen.” He had not been conscious of the
occasional spatter of rain, for his leather jacket had kept him dry.
“But I’ll have you warm and snug before you can say knife.”
And when she questioned, “A fire----” he replied, “Isn’t that what one
uses to get warm with?”
“But here--tonight----?”
“Oh, don’t bother. You’ll see.”
They were climbing up the face of the slippery rocks, Hammersley
pausing from time to time to let her rest, pulling her from above when
he reached the ledges, and at last they came out into the amphitheater
of bowlders from which he had descended.
She was almost too weary for comment and followed blindly as he led her
to the wall of the rock where he seemed to disappear in its very face.
She followed him inside a dark opening and when they were well within
he relinquished her hand and struck a match. A brief glimpse she had of
a small chamber in the cliff not twenty feet square when the match went
out. He struck another and shading it with his hand went forward. She
saw him find what he was looking for and in a moment a candle, after
faintly sputtering for a moment, sent forth a steady glow of light.
“Sit here on this stool. I’ll have you right in a jiffy.”
She obeyed him and looked around her. At one side was a bed of pine
needles, at another a small table and in the middle of the rocky floor
the gray embers of what had been a fire.
“A bit roughish, but not so bad?”
She nodded while he busied himself in building the fire. There were
dry leaves, twigs and logs in the corner, and soon a blaze was leaping
cheerfully upward. And while she wondered at the signs of occupancy he
answered her thought.
“It’s Lindberg’s. He comes here often. It was here that he and I always
slept when we went on hunting trips. You see there’s a natural chimney
overhead in the rocks where the bally smoke goes out. They might
observe the smoke by day, but at night we’re quite safe. I’ve been all
around the place when the fire was goin’ and there isn’t a sign of it
outside.”
He helped her put her coat off and made her comfortable close to the
fire, after which he quickly took the package of papers out of his
pocket and examined them. The single papers were military orders of no
importance to one Lieutenant Orstmann, obviously the dead messenger.
Hammersley put them aside, breaking the seal of the heavy envelope and
examining its contents carefully. First a letter of instructions to His
Excellency von Stromberg, signed in the bold hand of the Emperor of
Germany himself. He showed her the signature and explained its contents
and all thought of weariness went from her mind.
“It is--it’s what you came for?”
“Yes,” he replied, smiling grimly. “I’ve got it.”
“Is it--it isn’t so important that you can’t tell me?” she asked
timidly.
He laughed, put his arm around her and held her for a moment tenderly.
She had endured where a man might have flinched, and yet at this moment
she was all woman--timid, weary unto death, but still curious. It was
the master impulse.
“No,” he smiled. “You’ve jolly well earned the right to know. I’ll tell
you.”
He was so big, so strong, so certain of himself that she wondered how,
for a moment even, she could have thought him other than he was. With a
sudden impulse of pride and tenderness, she rose, put her arms around
his neck and bending his head down to hers kissed him upon the lips. He
caught her to him and held her in his arms.
“O Cyril,” she murmured, “that I could ever have failed in my belief in
you, that I could ever have thought that you were false! Why didn’t you
tell me the truth? I would have kept your secret.”
“It was impossible, dear. It was too big a thing and I was sworn to
silence. But since you found out----”
“Did you think me curious--” she asked naïvely, “because I read the
cigarette papers?”
“Curious!” he laughed. “Well rather! The mistake I made was in tellin’
you _not_ to read them. If I----”
“Don’t laugh at me,” she whispered. “I can’t stand that. The only
retribution for what I did this afternoon is a blow. If you struck me,
Cyril, I should not care.”
“But I won’t, you know, old girl. But I’m going to kiss you again if
you don’t mind.”
And he did, while a shadow darkened her eyes. “It seems terrible to be
happy, even in our moment of security, with the shadow of death hanging
so closely over us. I know you had to kill him, Cyril, but----” She
paused.
“It was either that or he would have killed _me_. As it was, it was
too jolly close a thing for comfort. I gave the other man his chance,
but he wouldn’t take it. Lucky he didn’t, for I might have missed the
papers.”
She clung to him more closely.
“And if you had been killed?” she whispered. “I saw it all. At first I
thought you had fallen. O Cyril, the agony of it! And then you came out
from behind the tree and I knew that you were unharmed. I had seen a
man die, as I had, there upon the rocks at Ben-a-Chielt, but when the
other one came at you I wanted you to kill him. I _wanted_ it. I prayed
that you would. It was murder--in my heart. I can’t understand how I
have changed. And I’ve always thought death such a fearsome thing!”
She hid her face in his shoulder and clung to him, trembling. She had
passed through danger valiantly, carelessly even, but now that for the
moment danger had passed, woman-like, she yielded to the reaction. He
kissed her gently.
“Sh--child. Don’t let it work on you. No bally use. We’re safe now.”
“Yes--safe for the present. That ought to be enough for me. But if
anything had happened to you--!” She shuddered.
“But it didn’t----”
“Oh, I’m thankful,” she whispered. “Thankful for that--and for you--the
trouble I’ve passed through--the pain of my thoughts of you--I’m
thankful for those too, because without them I never should have known
you--the real _you_, Cyril. I sometimes think that life deals too
easily with most of us to bring out the best that’s in us. I never
would have known you in England, Cyril, doing the things you always
did.”
He smiled at her.
“I’m the same chap, though. Can’t tell what a fellow will do when he
has to.”
“But you didn’t have to. You might have gone to France and sat in a
trench. Instead of that you did what was harder--let them distrust
you--hold you in contempt--keeping silent and cheerful, while you were
doing such splendid things for England.” She paused while she caressed
him and said in a proud whisper, “The Honorable Cyril!”
“Honorable!” he smiled. “You’d hardly get von Stromberg to think that.”
“That terrible old man!” she went on clinging to him. “I can see his
vulture face now. He would have shot you--tomorrow!”
“But we fooled him--what? Poor Lindberg!”
She questioned him and he told her of the devotion of his old friend.
“And what will von Stromberg do to Lindberg?” she asked anxiously.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Nothin’ perhaps, unless Udo tells.”
He paused and looked into the fire. “Wish I knew about Udo,” he said
thoughtfully. “We were very good pals last year.”
“But he wouldn’t see you shot!”
“He couldn’t do anythin’. I am betrayin’ his country.”
“But not _your_ country, Cyril,” she said.
“No, thank God. Not mine. I love Germany--the Germany of my mother--and
the men like Lindberg. But the Germany of von Stromberg--that’s not
Germany to me.”
“Do you think we will get away?”
“Yes,” he said quickly.
She read the anxiety in his voice and knew that he was thinking of her,
and in that moment a new idea of her duty came to her.
“You mean,” she said quickly, “that you could get away if it wasn’t
for me. O Cyril, I know. Don’t try to deceive me. You could disguise
yourself and get away to the Swiss border. It would not be difficult
for you. I am a weight around your neck which may destroy you.”
“Hush, child.”
“No. I am not too stupid to see that. You ought to be going now.”
She clung to his arms and looked up into his face as her duty came
more clearly to her, while her voice trembled with earnestness. “I
want you to go, Cyril. Your life is valuable to England. They are on
a false scent down there. You could get away in the darkness and
by morning you can be miles away. I’m not afraid. Tomorrow I can go
and give myself up. I am only a girl--an American. They will not
dare to harm me. Don’t smile. I am in deadly earnest. You must go,
Cyril--now--now----”
But he only patted her gently.
“You think that I am a child,” she went on, “that I cannot be trusted
to get along alone. Haven’t I proved it to you that I am not afraid?
Look at me, Cyril. I am only a little tired now but tomorrow I will go
to von Stromberg and say, ‘Here I am--now what can you do to me?’ He
may threaten and bluster and rage, but that will not frighten me--when
you are safe. What can he reply? What _could_ he do? My nation is not
at war with his. He would not _dare_! O Cyril, say that you’ll go--say
that you’ll go----”
She looked up into his face and saw that its expression had not
changed. He was still smiling at her softly while she felt the touch of
his fingers gently petting her.
“Oh--you won’t go--you won’t!” she cried, and then without further
warning burst into a passion of tears.
“Don’t, Doris, for God’s sake,” he whispered. “Don’t break now. I need
all your courage and your strength. You’ve been so brave--so strong.
Keep up your spirits, there’s a dear. We’ll pull through, don’t you
worry.”
“They’ll take you--if you stay here.”
“No. They won’t find us. I’m not afraid of that, and there are water
and biscuits here. We’ll take things easy for a while and then slip
off. Do you think I could go and leave you in the lurch? Pretty sort
of a Johnny I’d be to do a thing like that! Not for twenty Englands,
Doris,” he whispered, kissing her tenderly. “Not for twenty Englands,
I wouldn’t.” His touch soothed her and she grew more quiet.
“Of--of course you w-wouldn’t,” she murmured. “But I w-wish you would.”
Her hands met around his neck and he raised her chin and kissed her on
the mouth. It was a kiss of plighted troth, of tenderness, faith and
the exalted passion that comes with tears.
“Mated?” he whispered.
“Yes--yes,” she murmured faintly.
They did not move for a long moment when Doris slowly disengaged her
arms from around his neck and moved slightly away. Her hair had fallen
and hung in golden disorder about her shoulders. She put up her arm,
trying to catch the escaping pins, and then she smiled at him, dimpling
adorably.
“Come,” he said gently. “You must get to bed. Your coat is nearly dry,
but I’ll cover you with my jacket. You must sleep, too. No shammin’,
you know. Can’t tell what may happen tomorrow.”
“I’ll try,” she murmured obediently, while he led her to the couch of
boughs and made her lie on it. But as he knelt beside her, covering
her with his jacket, she caught his hands and would not relinquish
them. He raised hers to his lips and kissed them again and again:
small, muscular hands they were, but now very brown and dirty. “Are you
comfortable? Sorry I haven’t a tub.”
She was silent a moment and then straightened and asked him:
“You promised to tell me about the papers. Won’t you?”
He laughed.
“Not now. It must be nearly morning.”
“Yes, now. I’m not tired now. I will sleep afterwards. I like to hear
your voice, Cyril. Perhaps it will soothe me to sleep.”
“Are you sure?” he asked doubtfully--and she nodded.
He saw that she was still nervous and wakeful and sank beside her
couch, taking her hand in his.
“It is really quite interestin’,” he began slowly. “Three years ago,
at the invitation of the Emperor of Germany, when Europe was at peace
and there was no cloud upon the horizon bigger than a chap’s hand,
there met in a shootin’ lodge near Schöndorf, not ten miles from
here, six men. It was a secret conference, arranged by the Emperor of
Germany through His Excellency Graf von Stromberg. The six men were
His Highness Prince von Waldheim, at one time Germany’s ambassador
to France; Admiral von Frankenhausen, head and front of the Imperial
German Navy; General von Sandersdorf, the brains of the German General
Staff; His Excellency Moritz von Komarom, minister of war of the
Austrian Empire; Viscount Melborne, English Secretary of State for
Foreign Affairs; and Harlow-Gorden, of the British Admiralty.”
She was listening avidly, wide-eyed, the array of well-known names
telling her as nothing else could have done the importance of the
conference.
“This meetin’ was a secret,” he went on. “These men all traveled
incognito, without servants, and were met by an agent of General von
Stromberg at Schöndorf and conducted in automobiles to the huntin’
lodge I have spoken of. These men remained there for two days and two
nights and then went home. But while they were there they were makin’
new history for Europe.” He paused to fill his pipe but her curiosity
could not be restrained.
“And what were they doing there, Cyril? I can’t understand.”
Hammersley got up and held his pipe to the candle, for matches were
scarce, and then, with maddening calmness, sat beside her again.
“That secret meetin’ of these chaps had to do with nothin’ less than
the ruin of France----”
“France!” she cried. “England had nothing against France and now she is
her ally.”
“Three years ago the political conditions were different,” he answered.
“Those representatives of England came and sat with representatives of
Germany and Austria while they plotted the destruction of France.”
“But how do you know this, Cyril? I can’t understand.”
“No more do I, but it’s a fact. Let me go on. At the table in the lodge
where this conference was held, Viscount Melborne made notes of what
was goin’ on, includin’ the combinations of land and naval forces that
could be made against France and Russia, and the plans to break the
Russian Federation in the Balkans. When the meetin’ was over all the
scraps of paper these chaps had scribbled on were destroyed by fire
before the eyes of the men who had made ’em, except those of Viscount
Melborne, who put ’em in his pocket, and with them a pencil copy of
this secret treaty in his own handwriting. The original copy of the
treaty was entrusted to Harlow-Gorden, who put it in his dispatch-box.
It was not until the next day when the Englishmen, in the train on the
way to Paris, discovered that Viscount Melborne’s private papers were
missin’. Jolly fine mess--what? They got off at the next stop, went
back to Schöndorf and looked for the papers, but neither there nor at
the lodge was there hair or hide of ’em. So they went back to England
hopin’ that by some fortunate accident the papers had been destroyed.”
“And these--” asked the girl, “are they?”
He nodded. “To make the story short, I found out where they had
gone. My flights to Germany have been made for this purpose. Don’t
you see? The papers came into the hands of the Emperor of Germany
and he was plannin’ to have ’em sent to the President of the French
Republic--England’s ally. It wouldn’t do, you know, to have such papers
at such a time fall into the hands of France. Hardly a credit to
English diplomacy. What? Might even result in a new _entente_.”
“But where were the papers in the meanwhile?” she asked.
“That is what took me so bally long to find out. After many hunts away
from Windenberg at night, I traced ’em to a Socialist by the name of
Gottschalk at Schöndorf, who had received ’em from a pensioner of the
Imperial Forest Service, one of the attendants at the huntin’ lodge
where the conference was held. Whether he found ’em or stole ’em I
don’t know, but I frightened him and he confessed. I was on the very
point of stealing ’em from Gottschalk when I found out that he had been
writin’ to the Wilhelmstrasse, and when I tried to get ’em they were
gone. If I’d got ’em then, you would not be here, Doris, and I----”
“But how did you learn what the Wilhelmstrasse proposed to do with
them?”
“Oh, that was quite clear. The English Foreign Office has been badly
frightened and has used every effort with its secret agents in Berlin
to get that information. It reached London the other day. And just
before I left Scotland I knew the job was to be given to General von
Stromberg. The rest was Kismet--the fortune of war--a jolly good piece
of luck! Lindberg overheard through the microphone von Stromberg givin’
instructions to Wentz--so that His Excellency’s own weapons were turned
against him. I was goin’ to waylay Wentz on the way to France, but
circumstances prevented----”
“It was I, Cyril,” she broke in pleadingly. “I didn’t know. I betrayed
you.”
“A trick,” he laughed, “invented in the Rameses family--but still
useful.”
“He frightened me,” she stammered. “I believed the message signed
‘Maxwell’ genuine.”
“Not Maxwell,” he said gravely, “for Maxwell--a sore spot since the war
began in the side of the War Office--Maxwell is dead.”
“You----?” she exclaimed fearfully.
“Yes,” he replied. “I told and they caught him. I couldn’t do so
before. It’s war, Doris. It is a fair game. I ask no favors--nor do I
give any.”
She was silent a moment looking into the fire.
“Yes, I understand--a terrible game with odds against----” And then,
after a pause, “You say that we will get away. Won’t you tell me your
plan?”
He rose with a confident laugh.
“Yes, I have a plan, but I’m not going to tell it now. You are going to
sleep.”
She laughed wearily and sat up.
“And you? Where will you sleep?”
“By the fire. I’ve got some thinkin’ to do. I’m not sleepy. I had
eight hours last night. I’m going to watch.”
He bent over her and gently made her lie down. “I will talk to you no
more. You must go to sleep.”
She sighed and stretched herself out while he covered her with his
coat. Then he put a fresh log on the fire and sat beside her again. In
a moment he heard her voice.
“I hope you don’t mind my telling you, Cyril, that I love you a great
deal.”
“Not in the least,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t mind listenin’ while you
said it all night. But----”
“There. You’re going to insist on my sleeping again!”
“Won’t you?”
“I don’t seem to feel as if I could ever sleep again. You’re so cool,
so calm, Cyril. How _can_ you be?”
“No bally use gettin’ excited. Here we are snug as two bugs in a rug.
We’ll slip through them some way.”
“But where will we go?”
He smiled.
“I have a notion of goin’ to England.” His kind of quiet humor always
put her on her mettle.
“To England--?” She started up.
“There won’t be much chance of your doin’ anythin’ tomorrow if you
don’t get your sleep,” he insisted gently. “Do what I ask, Doris. Sleep
you must.”
“I’ll try. Good night, Cyril.”
“Good night.” He kissed her on the forehead and drew his jacket over
her again, then sat beside her, her hand in his, watching. Gradually
her nerves grew quiet and weariness mastered her. He waited until her
breathing indicated sleep, when he carefully relinquished her hand
and moved to the fire, where he carefully studied the papers by the
light of his candle, after which he slipped them into the pocket of
his trousers and moved softly across the cave into a corner, where
he opened the lid of a tin box and examined its contents, taking out
a fresh candle to replace the other one, which was on the point of
expiring.
Then he filled his pipe with great deliberateness and, returning to the
stool by the fire, crossed his knees and bent forward, gazing into the
blaze, his brows tangled in deep thought. He had succeeded in getting
what he came for. So far, the secret of the meeting in the shooting
lodge was safe. But for how long? By this time a description of the two
of them had, of course, been telegraphed to every village and military
station in Germany. That wouldn’t do at all. Alone it might be managed,
with a German officer’s uniform and Herr Lieutenant Orstmann’s military
orders, but with Doris--it wasn’t to be thought of.
The other alternative appealed to him more strongly. He had matched
his wits against von Stromberg’s so far and had won, and success made
him hopeful. Where carefulness failed, audacity sometimes succeeded.
The more he thought of his plan, the deeper became his conviction
that it was the only one possible under the circumstances. There was
continued danger for the papers and he deliberated for a long while
upon the wisdom of destroying them at once, finally rejecting that
idea except as a last alternative. His word that he had destroyed them
would perhaps be sufficient to ease the minds of the gentlemen at the
Foreign Office, but there were certain memoranda about the promises of
Germany to England signed with the initials of Prince von Waldheim
which should at all costs be saved. But aside from this consideration,
Hammersley, having carried his affairs thus far successfully, had a
pride in finishing it as he had planned. It could be done--he would do
it.
He got up and put another log on the fire and then stretched himself
out at full length upon the rocks, gazing into the flame. In the corner
where the bed was he heard the steady breathing of the girl. What a
trump she was-- What a tr----
He nodded and then dozed. Troubled visions flitted across his mind.
Once he thought he heard the sound of a footstep on the rocks and
started up. It was broad daylight. He listened for a while and then
slowly sank back and slept again. How long he did not know, for
something awakened him and he sat up, reaching instinctively for the
holster lying at his side, to look straight into the muzzle of an
automatic, behind which was the handsome blond head of Udo von Winden.